


A Bit of a Birthday

by astudyinotters753



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Birthday Surprises, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:57:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7500297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinotters753/pseuds/astudyinotters753
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team plus Jack and Shitty crowd around him and someone struggles to light the candles while everyone else breaks into the most obnoxious version of Happy Birthday Eric has ever heard.  It’s mostly loud and very enthusiastic, and he couldn’t love it more.  It only gets better once Shitty cuts into the cake, and everyone goes quiet.  </p>
<p>Turns out, Jack Zimmermann can be a good baker, when he wants to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit of a Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sterekat221B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sterekat221B/gifts).



> This fic is birthday gift for the best beta reader ever. I hope your 24th year is far superior to your 23rd, and that life just keeps getting sweeter.

The morning after his junior year of college is officially over, Eric wakes in a hazy patch of sunlight when his phone chirps at him.  Smiling sleepily, Eric pulls his phone from the bedside table, unplugs it from the charging cord, and turns his screen on.  He takes his time reading through the handful of text messages that have flooded his phone, and considers returning the missed calls from his Mama and his MooMaw when a message from Jack pings across the top of his screen.   _ Get some more rest, Bits _

Eric can’t help but snicker at the message; it sounds so similar to the stilted conversations he had with Jack about protein consumption and his lack thereof not long after they met.   _ How’d you know I was up? _ he types back, settling the phone by his pillow when he’s finished.  

Jack’s reply doesn’t come for a few, hazy moments that Eric is all too happy to linger in a delirious haze between awake and asleep.  Eventually, his screen lights up as his phone chirps, and Eric takes his sweet time in reading what Jack had to say.   _ Just had a feeling.  Go back to sleep, mon petit lapin _ .

In lieu of replying, Eric smiles fondly at his screen, puts the phone back on his bedside table, and takes a moment to stretch luxuriously in the sunlight before rolling over to fall back asleep.  When he wakes again, he notes that the time is closer to noon than he expected.  Rooting around in his closet for a suitable shirt to wear, his hands fumble over an out-of-place lump of Samwell red cotton.  

Now, Eric knows he has a lot of red in his closet and small chest of drawers.  It’s practically inevitable considering his choice in higher education.  He also knows which shirt is which, and can tell by touch - after quite a few laundry mix-ups over the years - whose hockey shirts belonged to whom.  With each stroke of his fingers over the Samwell logo adorning the front, he becomes more convinced that this shirt in particular belongs to Jack.  

Regardless of who it belongs to, the cotton is soft against his skin in the way that only a well-worn shirt can be.  The sleeves come down to the bend in his elbows, and the hem covers half of his boxers.  Eric runs his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair, calls it good, and makes his way down the stairs.  Ransom and Holster accost him as soon as he touches down on the first floor.

“Happy Birthday, Bitty dude!” Ransom says, slinging an arm around Eric’s shoulders.  

“Lardo’s got booze with your name on it in the kitchen!” Holster adds, steering them towards the kitchen doorway.  

“Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking?” Eric asks as he’s herded.  

Holster and Ransom share a brief look before shaking their heads.  “Nah,” Holster says, squeezing himself through the doorframe alongside Ransom.  “It’s never too early to be drinking on your birthday.”

Before he can get another word in, Lardo carefully shimmies up to him, links one of her arms through his, and hands him a coffee mug that looks like it’s been filled with orange juice.  “Shitty wanted to come up to make tub juice,” she offers, sipping a matching drink from her own mug.  “But I told him he had to wait until the after-graduation kegster.  

With a nervous hiccup of a giggle, Eric raises the mug to his lips and cautiously takes a sip.  “Miss Larissa,” he murmurs fondly, smiling into his mug.  “Bless your sweet heart.”

She squeezes his arm briefly before detangling herself and heading for the door.  “I’m off to go get Shitty,” she announces, grabbing her keys from the dish by the door.  “I think the frogs wanted to take you to lunch, Bits.”

Eric can only manage a nod before Lardo is gone and Ransom and Holster are, once again, manhandling him in another direction.  All three of them settle down onto the green couch, shifting around until Eric is half sprawled across them, Holster’s arm lining the top edge above him. 

After a few minutes of sitting in the silence, Ransom turns on the television and hands the remote to Holster.  Holster clicks through a few different daytime soaps before sighing, logging on to his Xbox, and starting Mamma Mia.  The longer they sit on the couch, the further Eric melts into his friends.  When the frogs show up a while later with a pair of shorts for Eric in hand, he feels light and loose and knows he’s on his way to tipsy.  The movie is stopped, Eric dresses hurriedly, and then they’re out the door and loading into Nursey’s SUV.

Lunch ends up being a languid affair.  They go to one of the mom-and-pop diners Eric favors, and they spend a few hours drinking milkshakes and eating breakfast and laughing as they all tell stories about their past birthdays.  The whole outing is much more mild than anything his Mama has ever planned  for him, but it’s one of the best birthdays he’s had in years.  Knowing that he gets to leave for Providence in a few days to spend a whole two weeks with Jack is icing on the metaphorical birthday cake.

After lunch comes, Nursey insists that they go see a movie.  After the movie, Chowder wants to feed the ducks at the park.  Dex argues that he can always feed the geese at Samwell, and that they should head back to the Haus and have a Mario Kart marathon.  It takes them the better part of half an hour to make a decision; Mario Kart tournament won the vote, 3 to 2.  It’s almost time for Eric to start dinner when they finally make it back to the Haus, and he heads immediately to the kitchen after making sure his frogs have plenty of blankets and cushions and are all set up in the living room.  

The kitchen, when he finally makes it there, is dark and clean and not at all the mess he’d left there last night when he’d had to stop doing dishes to herd Nursey up to his bed.  The countertops feel cool and smooth under his hands, pristine and perfect for rolling out pie dough.  If he starts baking now, he’ll have plenty of time to throw together the chicken casserole Shitty loves instead of the Mac-and-Cheese bake he was thinking about making for Chowder.  

Eric is elbow deep in the fridge, rooting around for the last of the blueberries Holster had gifted him, when he hears sock feet shuffling behind him.  Jerking back, he clutches a whole, plastic-wrapped chicken to his chest.  He makes a lunge for the light switch, and almost drops the chicken when he trips over the cracked corner tile that always gets Chowder.  

After a moment, he rights himself, manages to finally turn on the light, and smooth his hair before turning around to face whomever was lurking in his kitchen.  When he catches sight of Jack, his cheeks delicately pinked, and a small grin on his face, the chicken is almost dropped.  Again.

“Jack,” he breathes, taking a hesitant step forward.  “What are you doing here?  I thought you had a team dinner you had to go to?”

Jack shakes his head and reaches forwards to pluck the chicken from Eric’s hands, turning to set it safely in the sink.  “No.  I just told you that so I could surprise you,” he answers.  “I guess it worked a little too well, eh?”

Eric chuckles softly and reaches a hand up to brush at a dark spot on Jack’s shirt.  “You gave me a bit of a fright, Mr. Zimmermann,” he comments, pulling a concerned face when his hand pulls away, sticky.  “Now what have you been up to?

Jack’s cheeks heat even more, and he shrugs his shoulders.  “Not too much,” he all but murmurs, moving away from Eric to grab for something across the kitchen.  “But I did make you this.”

When Jack turns around, Eric feels his heart clench tight in his chest.  For there, cradled securely in Jack’s lovely, large hands, is a cake platter that has been topped with one of the most beautiful cakes he has ever seen.  

It’s tall, and symmetrical, and iced expertly with what appears to be a flavored buttercream.  Shell borders are piped around the edges, and on the top, there are two, large candles stuck together, indicating to everyone that the recipient of the cake is now twenty-one.

All Eric is able to do is breathe out Jack’s name like a prayer, his eyes darting back and forth from the cate to Jack’s face.  As he watches, Jack’s smile slowly spreads until Eric can see his teeth, and his cheeks are dimpling with pride.

“You like it?” Jack asks, looking as if Eric as if he’s about to be given the Stanley Cup.

“Oh, honey,” Eric says, clutching a hand over his heart.  “I love it.”

“Happy birthday, Bits,” Jack says as he carefully sets the cake down on the counter, turning to wrap his arms around Eric when he can.  

Eric smiles into Jack’s chest, and takes a moment to just breathe him in.  “Y’know,” he says, pulling back far enough to see Jack’s face, “I haven’t had anyone give me a professional cake for my birthday before.”  Jack’s arms become slightly stiff around him, and Eric frowns.

“It’s not professional,” Jack blurts, the words spilling from his mouth before he can stop them.  “I mean… uh…”

Eric raises an eyebrow at him.  “You were saying, Mister Zimmermann?” he prompts.  The smile Jack sends him is small and fragile, and it makes Eric’s heart flip in his chest.  

“I made the cake for you,” Jack admits.

Eric is dumbstruck for a moment, and looks back and forth once again from the cake to Jack’s face.  He’s baked with Jack before, seen first hand the disaster Jack has the potential to be in a kitchen, and it takes him longer than he’d care to admit to wrap his mind around the idea that such a perfect cake could come from Jack’s hands.  

“It’s my dad’s favorite,” Jack continues, looking fondly at the cake.  “My mom has made it for him every year since before I can remember.”

Beside him, Eric smiles and waits for Jack to continue.

“I remember her teaching me how to help out when I was small.  For a few years, all she’d let me do was crack the eggs and measure out the vanilla, but eventually I learned how to make the whole thing.” he rambles, tightening his hold on his boyfriend.  “I guess what I’m saying is, that it’s a family tradition.  And I thought it was time you experienced it, eh?”

“Oh, Jack,” Eric sighs, turning his face to press a kiss over Jack’s heart.  The rest of his words get caught in the lump rapidly forming in his throat.  

Jack ducks to press a kiss to the top of Eric’s head before releasing him.  “Come on,” he says, breaking the embrace to grab the cake once again before heading towards the living room.  “It’s spice cake with maple frosting.  You’ll love it.”

With a smile, Eric follows.  The team plus Jack and Shitty crowd around him and someone struggles to light the candles while everyone else breaks into the most obnoxious version of  _ Happy Birthday _ Eric has ever heard.  It’s mostly loud and very enthusiastic, and he couldn’t love it more.  It only gets better once Shitty cuts into the cake, and everyone goes quiet.  

Turns out, Jack Zimmermann can be a good baker, when he wants to be.  

Later on, when the entire cake is gone, and everyone has gone off to their own rooms for the night, Eric settles into bed beside Jack.  “Thank you,” he says once Jack’s breaths have mostly evened out.

“For what?” Jack asks, his words melting together.  He feels Eric’s lips turn up into a smile against his collarbone.  

“For the best birthday I’ve ever had,” he replies.  

“Next year it’ll be even better,” he whispers into the darkness.

“Of course it will, honey,” Eric murmurs.  “Of course it will.”

The evening after his junior year of college is officially over, Eric curls up in a warm tangle of sheets with his boyfriend.  Yawning, Eric reaches over to place his phone on the bedside table, plugging in the charging cord, and checking to make sure his screen is off.  He takes his time getting settled into the perfect position, pressed up against Jack, and considers asking him to be the little spoon for a moment before Jack’s hand settles, warm and heavy, against his hip.  

“Get some rest, Bits,” Jack murmurs, his thumb rubbing small circles into the waistband of his boxers.  

With a sleepy smile, Eric closes his eyes and does just that.


End file.
